Destroying a Niche
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: The second trial of the amakarna serum gets under way; and a fantasizer finds herself charged with a mission on the doomed "Andrea Doria". Eighth and final in the "Niches" series
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This is the final story in the "Niche" series. I'll still be producing more FI tales, but it may be a while before the next one appears, as I'm finally beginning serious work on a book I hope will be published, using most of the original characters from these stories and the ones I published on FictionPress. If publication somehow miraculously pans out, I'll post it here first! In the meantime, enjoy this latest adventure._

* * *

§ § § - November 17, 2008

Christian and Leslie paused in the foyer of their house to listen; the silence was a surprise, to say the least, but they had finally ascertained the night before that Karina and Tobias did indeed have the stomach bug Leslie and several others had suffered previously. "They must be asleep still," Christian mused when the quiet stretched out, stepping out of his shoes as he spoke. "Although I'm a little surprised Susanna hasn't emerged."

"She could be sleeping too," Leslie suggested. "But then...where are Ingrid and Margareta? I could see Margareta sleeping in, but Ingrid's always up when we come back."

A mew floated across the room from somewhere, and they looked at each other and started to laugh. "Well, Magic's here, at least," Christian observed. "Let's go check on them and find out what's happening around here. If we're going to have houseguests later, I'd rather they didn't catch what Tobias and Karina have." He leaned into the kitchen doorway and tossed a pile of mail onto the table for later examination. "So...I presume you and Mr. Roarke saw Ivar when he left a little while ago."

His offhanded tone didn't fool Leslie. "We did. He looked a bit the worse for wear. You left quite a colorful bruise on his lower left jaw."

Christian's grin looked a little too self-satisfied, and she snickered at sight of it; he winked. "Just a little souvenir, you might say. Well, he kept saying he wanted to get a rise out of me. I hope he's satisfied now. Did he say anything?"

"All he said was, 'Well, the food was good anyhow,' and then he turned around and walked off without so much as a farewell. I was going to comment so that Father wouldn't understand me, but I couldn't remember the _jordiska_ for 'good riddance'."

Christian burst out laughing. "Too bad I wasn't there, I certainly would have had a few things to say. Ah well, perhaps Ivar and I really were never meant to be friends beyond our childhoods...though it occurs to me there must have been something left from his point of view, if in the end he allowed Pelle to talk him into coming. But I'm through trying to psychoanalyze Ivar Claesson. What should we do about breakfast?"

Leslie opened her mouth to reply at the exact moment a shriek reverberated through the first-floor rooms. She and Christian stared at each other; then they half-ran across the living room and down to the guest suite, where Margareta was sitting up in bed, eyes focused entirely elsewhere, frantically swooping both arms around her head and begging, "Go away, get away!" in _jordiska._

"She's hallucinating again," Christian said and lunged over to the bed, grabbing both his niece's arms in an attempt to still her. _"Magga, du får slutta med det! Det finnes inget alls, forstår du mej? Lugna dej nu."_

His efforts to calm her down punched through after a few more firm comments, and Margareta gradually stilled, opening her eyes and peering cautiously around her before blowing out a relieved breath. "They're gone now, thank fate." She closed her eyes briefly, groaned and flopped back onto the pillow. "And this is only Day Two."

"What were you seeing?" Christian asked.

"Huge insects," Margareta said and shuddered. "It was like the locust infestations you sometimes hear about on the news in other countries. But they were attacking me."

Susanna appeared in the doorway then and grabbed Leslie's hand with both of hers. "How come you were screaming, Magga?" she asked her cousin.

Margareta smiled at the little girl. "I just thought I saw something that wasn't really there," she said. "But I'm all right now, Susanna. Did you just get up?"

Susanna nodded. "I've been awake a long time, though. I was just playing with my dolls." She turned her small face up to Leslie. "Mommy, I think Ingrid's sick. I looked in her room and she was still sleeping and she had the covers way up over her head. And her face looked like this." She scrunched up her own features till her parents and cousin laughed.

"Wonderful," Leslie murmured. "I guess the stomach thing got around to Ingrid too. Well, we'll let everybody sleep as long as they can. Do you want some breakfast?"

Susanna agreed eagerly, and Christian and Leslie took her out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her, themselves and Margareta. But as they passed by the spiral staircase, the adults heard a suspicious noise from somewhere upstairs, and both stopped short to stare warily at each other. "What did that sound like to you?" Christian asked.

Susanna answered for her mother. "Like somebody throwing up!"

"It's gonna be a long day," Leslie sighed, and Christian conceded with a rueful nod as he led the way up the stairs to see what had happened. Susanna followed, perversely eager to get a look at whatever mess had just been created; when it turned out to be Tobias, she stood in the doorway giggling till Tobias, on his way to the bathroom to be cleaned up, got angry and gave his sister a good kick in the shin. The squabble that followed seemed to belie Tobias' illness, and Christian had to put a stop to it so that he could get Tobias into the bathroom while Leslie set about the nasty business of cleaning Tobias' bed.

By lunchtime Margareta was on her cell phone with the directors of charities she was associated with in Lilla Jordsö; Karina, whose affliction was a good bit worse than that of her brother, was bedded down on the sofa in pajamas under a lightweight, washable cotton blanket, watching _Katrina Kattunga_ DVDs while clutching her plush representation of the title character; and Tobias was unusually docile in that he was sitting on the floor near the French windows into the backyard, building something with Lego bricks. Ingrid seemed to have the bug worse than anyone else; she hadn't been able to get out of bed all day, not even to vomit, so that Christian had been forced to go through the garage till he found a plastic bucket she could use when she got sick. Christian himself was working on more sketches for websites; and Susanna was across the street playing with April Harding.

Christian had given Leslie the traditional _jordisk_ recipe for ginger tea, and she was in the kitchen mixing up a second pitcher of it when the phone rang. She grabbed the 80s-style kitchen phone off the hook where it had been mounted on the wall; they had insisted on one of these old-fashioned phones from the time the house had been built, since Leslie was used to being caught working in the kitchen when someone called, and she wasn't willing to sacrifice counter space to the charger for a portable unit. "Enstads."

"Thought ye'd be there. I'm just checkin' in—how's your niece?" asked Rogan.

"She's doing all right. She did have one hallucination this morning," Leslie said, and told him what had happened.

"Any since?" Rogan asked.

"Not that she's mentioned to anyone. I'm sure she isn't the only one with that problem though. How many others in the group have reported hallucinations?"

There was a moment of silence, then Rogan mumbled, "I believe nine others so far have reported seein' things. Mind ye, I've not been in the greenhouse the entire day—I've had errands to run, so if more than that reported it, they may have gone to uncle. A couple of them've decided to check themselves into the hospital because their visions have been so severe and frightenin' to them. So Princess Margareta's seein' locusts now, is she?"

"I'm sure it'll get worse before it gets better," Leslie said with a little sigh, glancing into the living room via the passthrough. Christian had returned to his sketching, and Karina had fallen asleep on the sofa, her plush cat on the floor beside her. "I just hope that's all she gets. Two of the triplets and our housekeeper have come down with that stomach thing that's been going around."

Rogan's voice took on a measure of alarm. "What? Leslie, I think ye better check with uncle as to whether he can spare a bungalow. Princess Margareta's system'll have enough to deal with, without her bein' exposed to that on top of it. An' ye better do it quicklike. I know how contagious this thin's been gettin'. Ye an' Christian shoulda thought of it when the wee ones first took sick. Get her out o'there now an' hope it's not too late!"

"All right, all right," Leslie exclaimed, trying not to let Rogan's urgent tone spook her. "We will. I'll call Father right now." On his grumbled assent, she hung up, then dialed the main house and spoke with Roarke, who said there were no free bungalows just now, but he could house Margareta in Leslie's old room at the main house.

"She wouldn't disturb you?" Leslie asked, surprised.

"Of course not," Roarke said. "There's always someone in the kitchen at least, and she'll be able to report more quickly to someone who can help in the event her side effects worsen. Also, she'll be closer to the hospital if necessary. Yes, Rogan is right—bring her here at your earliest opportunity."

Leslie agreed, hung up and stashed the pitcher of ginger tea in the refrigerator before going to the living room. "Margareta," she said, "I just got a call from Rogan, and my father agrees with him—with the kids and Ingrid sick, they think you're better off staying at the main house till they get over this."

Margareta had been in the middle of dialing another call, and instead cut it off, looking surprised. "Mr. Roarke and Mr. Callaghan think I need to be away from them? I suppose in that case, it must be serious. Then let me pack, so that I'll have all my reading material with me."

"I'll help," Leslie offered.

"Did he say to take her this instant?" asked Christian in surprise from his chair.

Leslie glanced back at him and nodded. "Rogan seemed particularly insistent on it. I guess they don't want to take any chances. But when you think about it, it makes sense."

Christian glanced at the sofa and noticed for the first time that Karina had dozed off. "Well, then, while you're gone, I might have a little quiet time to get some more of this work done." He set aside the sketches and went to the eight-cube shelving unit just under the wall-mounted flatscreen television, taking out the DVD and shutting down the player. "I'm beginning to find myself singing along with _Katrina Kattunga_ in any case." Leslie and Margareta laughed and headed back to the guest suite to pack.

Leslie duly delivered the princess to the main house and paused at her father's desk on her way out. "Did Rogan update you on the test group? He says nine others besides Margareta have reported hallucinations in varying degrees, and I guess two of them are in the hospital now with severe ones. It occurred to me on the way up here that if thornapple is such a hallucinogen, everybody should be experiencing this stuff."

"As with much else, some are more susceptible than others," Roarke said, "and it's still early in the trial. I don't think you need worry about that at the moment. You have two sick children, and your helper is down with the same illness; you and Christian have enough on your hands with that, so leave Margareta to Rogan and me."

She agreed a little reluctantly and departed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel for the entire fifteen-minute ride back to the Enclave. She got inside to discover that both Karina and Tobias had thrown up again while she was gone, and Christian had managed to get only one of them to the bathroom in time. "I'm sorry, my Rose," he said, looking abashed and surprisingly out of his element, "but...I wasn't raised for this. There were always servants around to clean up these messes. I gave it my best try, but I'm afraid I didn't do very well." He gestured at the carpet near the sofa where Karina had lately been napping; there was a partially mopped-up mess there. "At least I got Tobias to the bathroom."

Leslie grinned and kissed him. "I'm not sure it would've been any different if I'd been here," she said. "Don't worry, my love. It's all part of dealing with sick little kids."

"What did Mr. Roarke tell you?" Christian asked.

"Not too much. I just told him what Rogan told me about the number of people going through mental hijinks. He said it's just as well Rogan told us to get Margareta out of the house. Not only will she be away from the sickrooms, but she'll be closer to the hospital if her side effects get that serious, and Mariki and her staff are always in the kitchen if Father isn't in. So if something comes up, she'll have help right away."

"Good," Christian said and sighed. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll stop worrying about Magga and see if I can do _some_thing constructive around here at least." He rolled his eyes at himself, and Leslie giggled and headed for the kitchen to gather cleaning supplies.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - November 22, 2008

By Saturday morning, Tobias, Karina and even Ingrid—whose illness had been especially malicious—had recovered completely; but Margareta's hallucinations had gotten worse, to the point that on Wednesday afternoon she had begged, in one of her decreasingly frequent lucid moments, to be checked into the island hospital for monitoring. She and the other two test subjects who were suffering from the malaise were being kept in separate rooms, and the doctor who was working on the project with Rogan and Roarke had discussed possible sleep aids for them after Margareta begged for relief. Rogan hadn't been sanguine about it, fearing interference with the serum, but Roarke had given the go-ahead for a knockout drug to be delivered by gas mask. They had had a good solid rest, and in their slow recovery from the gas, hadn't suffered any visions; Rogan had suggested they take the opportunity to give the patients a meal. In Margareta's case, she had no sooner finished eating than she had another hallucination. Christian, in a foul mood and wondering how they would ever get through the full fifteen-day waiting period, had been spending more time than usual at his office, trying to keep busy with the website projects he had taken on.

So Leslie was looking forward to the weekend as a distraction; when Roarke introduced their second fantasizer, she knew immediately she was going to be keeping close track of this one. "Mrs. Nina Dawson, a mother of three teenagers, from Mattoon, Illinois. Her fantasy is one I don't believe has ever been duplicated."

With an introduction like that, Leslie knew that this fantasy could be nothing less than fascinating. "What makes it unique?"

"As a high-school student, she discovered a certain book in the school library and read it avidly, checking it out several times a year until she graduated. A few years ago she was at last able to locate a copy of the book online and add it to her personal home library, and has read and reread it as well. The book was the original full story of the sinking of the _Andrea Doria."_ He turned to her then. "I presume you've heard of it."

Leslie thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I remember now. The Italian luxury liner that got rammed by another ship in the summer of 1956 and sank south of Nantucket. They never really figured out which ship was to blame, and I think in the end the crews of both ships had to admit fault."

"Controversy over culpability has never been settled," Roarke noted. "In any case, Mrs. Dawson finds the story of the sinking, and the amazing rescue of nearly all the passengers aboard the stricken ship, mesmerizing. And now it's her wish to take a voyage on the _Andrea Doria_, to see for herself all the fabled trappings of the liner and to experience those last heady days when ship travel was the primary means of getting between Europe and North America." He watched the slender dark-haired woman step into the clearing and gaze around her with a look of wonder.

Leslie eyed Roarke for a moment, knowing perfectly well that there was more to this fantasy than met the eye. She was pretty sure she knew what it would be, too. Grinning to herself, she studied their guests as Roarke toasted them in welcome, thinking to herself that Nina Dawson's fantasy sounded about as spellbinding as it could get.

§ § §

By the time she and Roarke had dispatched their first fantasy—that of an amateur horticulturist whose fondest longtime hope had been to cultivate the very rare Queen Omega orchid, a flower that brought back certain memories for both host and assistant—Leslie was dying to hear all about not only Nina Dawson's motivation for her fantasy, but how Roarke intended to grant it. Her anticipation was so high in fact that the ringing phone served to annoy her; but at Roarke's gesture, she picked it up. "Main house."

It was Christian, which served to lessen her annoyance considerably. "Hello, my Rose. I know you and Mr. Roarke are busy right now, but I thought you'd like to know that I heard from the hospital. Magga's had one convulsive episode, and I'm going over there right now to see if there's anything I can do. When you're ready, you might want to join me there." His voice was tense, and Leslie bit her lip.

"I'd say, give me about half an hour," she said. "I'll meet you there."

"All right, I'll see you then. Don't worry too much; they say she's stabilized, but she doesn't seem to acknowledge anyone around her. I'll update you when you get here."

She agreed and slowly replaced the phone after he'd hung up, informing Roarke of what she'd learned. Roarke frowned, nodding slightly. "As soon as Mrs. Dawson begins her fantasy, you should go directly to the hospital. Let me know as soon as you can whether the other two patients there have experienced anything similar."

"Will do," Leslie agreed. Just then, before she could settle into worrying too much, the door opened and Nina Dawson stepped inside; Leslie got to her feet, welcomed her in and showed her to the remaining empty chair in front of the desk.

Roarke regarded his latest guest with interest that showed nothing of his concern over Margareta. "Mrs. Dawson, I must say, I find your fantasy most intriguing. We've had many requests to experience passage on the _Titanic_, but to choose the _Andrea Doria_...I believe this is a first even for us. Please tell me how you arrived at it."

Nina Dawson shrugged. "I've had a serious interest in the _Andrea Doria_ sinking since high school, like I mentioned in my letter. There's just something about it. I can't really say what it is, but I do know this much—it was no secret that the _Doria_ was considered one of the most glamorous—if not _the_ most glamorous—ships of her time. She was filled with artwork—murals painted on the walls of all the public rooms and a lot of the first-class staterooms—and she was as graceful on the outside as the inside. I've seen enough pictures that I keep thinking what a privilege and a treat it must've been to take a transatlantic voyage on that ship and just spend the whole crossing exploring it."

Roarke smiled. "I see," he said. "Its sinking, of course, was a great loss, particularly to the Italian nation."

"I'm sure they still commemorate the anniversary of the sinking every year," Nina agreed. "I have at least four books about the sinking itself and a couple or three others revolving around aspects of it—even a novel that mentions some of the legends about cash and jewels and other treasure that supposedly went down with it. It was a big thing, but it's funny how history works on some things, given enough of a distance. Everybody focuses on the _Titanic_, as if that were the only ship that ever went down. But for me at least, the_ Doria_ is just much more fascinating." She paused and leaned forward to direct an earnest gaze at Roarke. "I think another thing about the _Doria_ sinking is that it was the last really big one, the last readily recognizable loss of a major passenger liner, before the era of sailing to Europe ended. Within just a couple of years, air travel was the most common way to hop the Atlantic, and passenger liners were only a romantic memory. I'm not part of the generation that has any memory of going to Europe by ship. My grandmother made a crossing on the _Doria_. Not on her last voyage, though—she went over the year before the sinking—but the stories she told and the pictures she had just spoke to me. So I wanted that experience for myself."

Roarke nodded. "We have been able to provide this for you, Mrs. Dawson. You'll spend two days—the length of the usual weekend here—aboard the _Andrea Doria_ in all its glory, in the glamor and sophistication of a decade poised on the edge between two eras: the post-World-War-II days of widespread prosperity and nostalgia, with an even more exciting and advanced future lying just ahead. All you need do is accompany us to the resort marina, and there your fantasy will begin."

Nina brightened with surprise. "You mean I'll have the experience of boarding the ship and claiming my stateroom and everything? Wow, Mr. Roarke, this is amazing!"

With a broad smile of appreciation, Roarke arose. "Shall we leave now?"

The resort marina was the same one out of which Brian and Lauren operated their passenger hydrofoil; it was located in a recessed inlet where the neighborhood that Brian and Lauren lived in, along with several others, faced the water across from the marina itself. The Knights' hydrofoil wasn't there; but then again, there were no passenger liners either, as Nina commented in dismay. "I don't see anything here."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Dawson, we are in the correct place," Roarke assured her, ushering her out of the rover and accompanying her along the concrete docking toward the boat slips. Leslie followed a couple of paces behind; Nina's head swiveled from one side to the other, checking out every slip whether occupied or not, till they had reached the end of the floating dock and come upon a huge private yacht moored there.

"This is it," said Leslie, coming to a stop on Nina's other side.

Nina stared at her, then at the boat, bobbing gently in the waves. "This may be big, but it sure isn't a transatlantic passenger ship."

"Ah, but Mrs. Dawson," Roarke reminded her with a wide smile and an expansive gesture toward the yacht, "this is Fantasy Island!" He nodded to his daughter. "Leslie?"

She stepped onto a small gangplank that led to a door on a level with the dock, and pulled it aside so that it slid into a recess in the hull. The interior was dark, but not because of lack of lighting. She smiled at Nina. "Right this way."

Nina held her ground for a moment, squinting doubtfully at the opening as if trying to see what lay beyond; then she pulled herself straight, glanced at Roarke who gave her an encouraging nod, and cleared her throat. "Okay, then, anchors aweigh and all that." She started up the gangplank, giving Leslie one last dubious look before stepping through the door.

She had been watching her steps on the way in, and when she looked up she was stunned to see long rows of stateroom doors to both sides. It was quiet, but far down the hall to her left, she saw a couple step out of a door and pull it shut, then rush off toward the stern, laughing. Something hit the carpeted floor with a soft thump, and she looked down again to see a key; she picked it up and gasped softly. It was an old-fashioned-looking brass one attached to a ring; also hanging from the ring was a brass tag. The key was engraved with a room number, and the tag said simply, _ANDREA DORIA_. Nina gawked at it, her face breaking out into a slow, wondering beam. "I'm really here!" she breathed. "Gosh, Mr. Roarke, I take back my skepticism...this is just cool beyond belief!" Suddenly excited, she set off on this long-anticipated first hike through a ship that had gone to its watery grave more than half a century before.

§ § §

Roarke dropped Leslie off at the hospital on the way back from the marina, and she found Christian waiting for her in the lobby waiting area. "Anything?" she asked.

"She seems to be fine. I just came out here to wait for you, only a few minutes ago. For the moment she's lucid."

"She's awake?" Leslie asked in surprise. "I thought you said she convulsed."

"She did," Christian confirmed, "but apparently that was the apex of her side effects from the serum. I was told it actually happened very early this morning, around five o'clock or so. I realize that's only a few hours, but the longer she stays free of any effects, the better it looks. The doctor who's working with Rogan on this thinks it may be a peak of sorts, and that she's past the worst, like the breaking of a fever."

Leslie nodded and slid her arms around him as he gathered her into his embrace. "So does that make you feel a little better?"

"Somewhat." Christian chuckled suddenly. "Perhaps now I can invite Ernst and Pelle to see the house after all. Ernst called my mobile last evening while you were doing laundry and reminded me that he and Pelle have to return home Sunday morning."

"Better hurry up then," she teased, and they grinned before Christian guided her back through the corridors to Margareta's room. The princess looked up when they came in and brightened at sight of them.

"Aunt Leslie, it's good to see you. You and Mr. Roarke must be busy." She set aside a magazine someone had given her. "Do you have time to talk?"

"For now, yes. We just got both fantasies started." Leslie took the nearby chair while Christian settled down on the side of his niece's bed. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"These side effects," Margareta grumbled, looking weary. "Everyone here has been telling me I had a convulsion of some kind, this morning before sunrise. Rogan's doctor consultant was in here just a minute or two before you two arrived, taking another blood sample. Uncle Christian, how long has it been now?"

"Only a week, believe it or not." Christian blew out a breath and shook his head slowly to himself. "Tomorrow marks the midway point. Tell me how you feel right now, both mentally and physically."

"Exhausted, in both cases. But my mind seems clear. I realize I can't infer anything from that—it's not as if I had any warning when I began to hallucinate. But somehow I feel calmer...less afraid of what lies ahead."

Christian seemed to perk up at that. "Well, that's good news. Perhaps your hallucinatory episodes won't last as long as those of the Dutch woman in the first trial." He might have said more, but just then the doctor Rogan was working with returned, followed by Rogan himself, who looked a bit surprised at seeing Christian and Leslie there. Christian nodded a greeting at him but addressed the doctor. "What's the news?"

"Still no loss of essential blood nutrients," the doctor said with a smile. "That's one thing that's been consistent with everybody in both trials. That's probably the best sign of all of them, in fact; it means that the lack of amakarna isn't affecting your health, and the longer you go without taking it and show no signs of deterioration, the likelier it is that Rogan's cure can be deemed a success. So I think you can take all these hallucinations and that convulsion in stride, Your Highness—you aren't suffering in vain."

Margareta's face broke into a wide smile, as much of relief as delight. "Doctor, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that," she said softly. "Thank you. Oh...I should ask you something else. I feel less worried and afraid for the first time since the day after I took my three doses. Could that be a sign also that I've passed through these side effects?"

"It's possible," said the doctor, who had been apprised by Christian several days earlier of Margareta's unusual whining and fear. "We'll keep you here at least another 12 hours for observation, but if you don't have any more side effects of any kind, we'll discharge you and your aunt and uncle can take you home."

"Here's hoping," Leslie said, and Margareta grinned.

"Agreed! So now you and Uncle Christian have to get me caught up on what's been happening at your house since I was evacuated." That made everyone laugh, and the doctor left the room while Rogan leaned against the wall and Christian and Leslie told Margareta what had been happening all week.

"You really should invite those friends of yours to the house, Uncle Christian," said Margareta with mock reproach. "Which reminds me of something else: why in the world did you keep them such a secret? None of us ever knew you even had friends in your childhood. You never talk about your school years, and all we ever heard was how you always felt so isolated from everyone else."

Christian stared at her in surprise. "I didn't realize my school years were of such interest to you...whoever, precisely, 'you' includes. When you say 'we', I presume you mean your sisters and cousins." He hesitated, realized what he'd said, and bowed his head for a second or two. "Well, I'm sure Briella must have been included."

"Ceci too," Margareta said gently. "You know neither of them would want you spending too much time mourning them."

"It's human nature to mourn, Magga," Christian reminded her. "Don't look at it as a weakness. It takes time to accustom oneself to the loss of a family member, but there'll be a day when we can remember Briella with more smiles than tears. Just now it's too fresh; you'll have to allow for that."

She nodded. "I know, and I understand. Now—stop your stalling and tell me about these friends of yours."

"Chances are that you'll be able to find one of them online," Christian mused. "Ernst's father owned a horse ranch which Ernst is currently operating along with his daughter. I'll have to look it up myself...Wennergren Thoroughbreds, I think the name is, if I recall Ernst's information correctly. In _jordiska_, of course." He grinned. "Pelle's a pilot. I still remember he wanted to be one from an early age."

Margareta rolled her eyes. "That's all very nice, Uncle Christian, but I want to hear what you were like when you were little boys. And you forgot one. Aunt Leslie mentioned someone called Ivar."

Christian regarded her with mock sternness and observed, "It looks as if you want to keep me here talking till suppertime. Unfortunately, you don't have that option, because I promised to have Pelle and Ernst over to our house for a visit and it has to be done today, as they return home tomorrow." His expression grew sly and a slow smirk began to bloom, and he continued with calculated thoughtfulness. "Seems to me you ought to have something to look forward to when they let you out of here...so I'll save the stories of our shenanigans till then." The smirk widened exponentially at Margareta's outraged look.

"You are the _worst_ tease on the face of the earth, Uncle Christian," she complained, which only made Christian grin and wink at Leslie. "What am I going to do to keep from being bored till I learn whether I can leave here?"

"Read," Christian and Leslie said together, and Rogan let out a laugh. "And before you object," Leslie added, "I'm not doing anything special till at least this afternoon, so I can bring you some books and magazines, and today's _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ too."

"You're both sadists," Margareta accused.

"I taught her well," Christian said with a grin at Leslie. "In the meantime, it just so happens that we have jobs to do, and we'd better get back to them. I suspect Rogan is here to find out the particulars of your convulsion, so we'll leave you with him to tell him what you know. We'll visit again this evening."

They walked out hand in hand; once they were outside, Leslie turned to Christian and asked, "Are you really going back to work? I thought you had an obligation to Pelle and Ernst. Why don't we both take them on the fifty-cent tour?"

Christian shrugged. "That's fine by me. I just hope the house is presentable." Leslie laughed, and he grinned back and wrapped an arm around her waist as they headed back for the main house.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - November 22, 2008

Nina had been just about all over the ship—at least, to all the places she had been allowed to explore. There were certain areas she couldn't visit, of course; the cargo area had been one such, deemed off limits by a couple of crewmen who found her prowling on one of the lower decks and informed her she had to return upstairs then and there. But she had visited all the public areas, peered in on all three swimming pools, browsed the gift shop, surveyed the recreational areas (including a children's playroom), looked over the schedule of films being shown in the ship's movie theater, peeked in the chapel, and strolled the open Promenade Deck. She still wasn't finished; there were thirty-one public areas in all, and it took time to get to all these places.

Nina had seen photos of the ship's interiors in the books she owned that recounted the story of the sinking; but seeing them in person was something else again, not least because all the pictures had been in black and white. The murals in the First-Class Lounge alone were enough to mesmerize her, even if it hadn't been for the focal point provided by the life-size bronze statue of the sixteenth-century Italian admiral for whom the ship had been named. The entire experience so far had been truly overwhelming, and only now, in the early evening, had she realized that she'd been so engrossed in looking around that she not only hadn't eaten a single bite all day, she had never even gone to the stateroom whose key she was toting in her pocket.

Laughing at herself, she made her way to the dining room, which was already about three-quarters full. It took her a few minutes to locate a table with enough empty chairs that she didn't feel like an intruder on someone's family dinner, and took a seat. She had no sooner made a choice and relayed it to a waiter than a young mother with a two-year-old child saw her there alone and gave her a look of mock reproval. "Goodness, why are you sitting there all by yourself?" she asked with a grin. "You could just as easily have joined us up here. Where do you come from? Did you just come off a big European trip?"

"Not really," Nina said, trying to think of something to say; she had never been to Europe, though not because she'd never wished to go. "I was...visiting a friend."

"In Italy?" the mother guessed and beamed. "How lucky! Well, come over here and sit beside me, and we'll talk. What do you think of the _Doria_, isn't she just as grand as can be?" Nina grinned and let the woman chatter while she changed seats, feeling slightly relieved in a way that she wouldn't be totally alone on this adventure. Once she had settled down in her new chair, her companion seemed to catch herself, laughing sheepishly. "You must really think I'm nuts," she apologized. "I'm Claire Minton, and this is my daughter Carrie here beside me. We're from Chicago, and we're just heading home from the trip of a lifetime. I just wish Carrie here would be able to remember it. We'll just have to keep our pictures and our movie film...my husband bought an eight-millimeter camera just for this trip."

Nina grinned again. "That'll be some keepsake. I'm Nina Dawson. Chicago, you said? I'm from Mattoon. Small world, isn't it?"

Claire Minton laughed. "Funny how it seems like everyone says that, ever since Disneyland opened up last year with that attraction. I guess that's going to be our next trip, but by the time we can afford it, Carrie'll be old enough to remember."

"Where did you go on your trip?" Nina asked, and that sent Claire Minton into a long reminiscence about their jaunt around mainland Europe. She was still talking when Nina's meal arrived, and Nina found herself enjoying Claire's anecdotes as she savored her food. It was turning out to be quite the adventure; she wished she could have afforded to ask Roarke to put her on a full week's ocean crossing on the _Doria_. It might have given her a chance to not only fully explore the great liner, but to develop real friendships. She had to remind herself that she was merely a visitor to this time and place. Yet for some reason, she thought the name Minton sounded familiar. Maybe, if she could ever get a word in edgewise with her new friend, she'd try to investigate.

§ § §

"You designed this place?" Pelle Fågelsang asked in amazement as he, Christian, Leslie and Ernst Wennergren alighted from the Enstads' car and paused in the driveway. "I had no idea you were an architect, Christian. _Herregud,_ you never told us _any_thing."

"I'm not an architect at all," Christian refuted with a laugh. "It was more a dream I had than anything else—when I first started making up the plans, I gave no serious thought to its ever coming true. The whole design bent in me drove me on to take graphic-design classes at Premier, to apply to website designing."

"This is too good to be just a fast drawing," Ernst said, shaking his head. "You spent years on this, didn't you?"

"Many of them, in my spare moments, when I wasn't motivated by anything else," Christian admitted. "But I'll say this—I did all the final refinements in the years I was waiting to marry Leslie. Sometimes it was all that kept me going when I thought it would never happen." He gathered Leslie to his side with one arm and kissed the top of her head as she smiled a little self-consciously at Ernst and Pelle. "Seven years in this house, and we've had many good times here."

"So show us the inside," Ernst suggested. "I'm sure it's completely modern...nothing like _Kungliga Slottet_ at all."

They went inside and took Ernst and Pelle on the grand tour; it wasn't long before Christian lapsed back into _jordiska_ as he bantered with his old friends, and Leslie listened in with a sense of wonder, hoping all the while that now and again she'd hear them refer to something they had done as little boys. Occasionally they spoke faster than she was able to follow, or used slang or ten-dollar words; but she got most of what they said, and thoroughly enjoyed the entire interlude.

Pelle noticed Tobias' fort in the backyard, something that seemed to have become semi-permanent since he and Kevin Knight always seemed to be working on it or playing in it whenever Kevin visited; Christian took him out to get a closer look at it, leaving Ernst on the patio with Leslie. He turned to her and cleared his throat. "This might sound a bit...odd," he said, and Leslie heard him trying to choose the proper words in English. "But you know that Christian is only our second royal ever to leave the country and the first not to lose the status permanently because of it. We have so little news of him and his family at home. I wonder only if you think perhaps you will ever move back to Lilla Jordsö?"

Leslie stared at him for a moment, considering the question. "Well, I don't know," she said at some length, realizing that she and Christian had never really discussed it and that she had no idea whether Christian ever suffered from homesickness. "It's never come up. I know he moved here because he wanted to be with me. He told me that his rationale was that he could do his job anywhere, but my job is unique and I'd be unemployed if I left this island." She smiled when Ernst chuckled. "I suppose someday Father will retire, but I don't know what will happen if and when he does. And anyway, Christian likes the privacy he has here, as opposed to being constantly on view in Lilla Jordsö."

Ernst nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps it only seems to me that things have changed too much in these years. The throne has changed hands so frequently only since you and Christian were married—already we have only a seven-year-old king and Christian's older brother must be regent for the next eleven years. And so many deaths. King Arnulf and Queen Susanna, then Princess Cecilia, now Queen Gabriella." He took a breath, started to ask a question, then caught himself when Christian and Pelle came back within earshot.

"Having a private conversation with my wife?" Christian asked with a grin.

"Only a few questions," Ernst said evasively, shrugging and aiming an uncomfortable smile at the prince.

Christian never missed anything, Leslie noted again, seeing her husband peer a little more closely at his friend. "Is something wrong, then?"

Ernst glanced at Leslie, threw Pelle a look that got no more than a blank stare in reply, and finally met Christian's quizzical gaze. "I wonder only..."

Christian waited for a few seconds, but when Ernst shifted his weight, he took in the three of them as a group. "Suppose we go inside and sit down, have something to drink," he suggested. "I think we have a pitcher or two of cherry seltzer in the refrigerator. Come in."

"How do you have cherry seltzer here on this island, on the other side of the world from home, and in the wrong season?" Pelle demanded, laughing, as they filed inside and Leslie made a relieved escape to the kitchen to pour out glassfuls. "You break so many rules and traditions, Christian, you're even worse than Claesson sometimes."

"That's probably what bothered Ivar about me so much," Christian reflected easily, gesturing his friends to chairs and taking a seat on the sofa so that Leslie would have room to sit beside him. "But my upbringing probably brought it out far more than if I had been only another ordinary human being. I wanted to break so many of those restrictions, perhaps I went too far. But I'm in another country. Why can't I have some reminders of home, anytime I wish?" At that Ernst and Pelle laughed agreement, as Leslie came out with a tray and handed out glasses of deep-red seltzer to each of them.

"So you were about to say something, Ernst," Christian prompted after a minute.

Ernst froze in the act of lowering his glass, eyeing Christian as though trapped. At last he sighed. "I know you are worried about Princess Margareta," he said slowly, his discomfort and lack of complete ease with English making him speak more slowly than usual. "And it's a good reason. But I don't know if you are in touch with your family at home since she has started this...drug thing here. Do you have time to look at the news from home?"

"What are you getting at?" Christian asked, frowning.

Ernst shifted in his seat and swallowed, then said gently, "There is a rumor now, that Prince Consort Daniel plans to take Prince Anders and move back to his hometown in Sweden. Prince Anders is Prince Daniel's only heir, true? And Prince Daniel has no brothers or sisters. His mother has died and now his...now Queen Gabriella has been taken from us, and people are saying now that he wants to leave us."

Pelle looked as astonished as Christian did; Leslie blinked and stared at her husband, who wrapped an arm around her as if seeking comfort before he spoke. "Where did you hear this, anyway? Don't tell me you read the damned tabloids."

"Well, that's where it began, but now others are saying it," Ernst said. "It comes out now in the better magazines, and on television programs...but there is no official statement from the castle. I wondered only if you have heard anything."

"No one's said anything to me," Christian said slowly, "but then again, I haven't asked either. And it's true, I've been...taken up with all of Magga's problems in testing this cure for her amakarna need." He fell silent, thinking, then looked up and narrowed his eyes at Ernst, just perceptibly. "So I suppose you want to have an inside scoop."

"A what?" said Ernst and Pelle at the same time.

"You want the truth before anyone else in the country knows it," Christian explained, "because of your friendship with me. Perhaps you want this before the family has it." Leslie peered worriedly at him; his accent had thickened a bit. "Is this true?"

"Christian, I don't know," Ernst said helplessly. "I ask only because I thought you knew the rumor. I thought you had heard it, and I wondered what you think."

"I don't think anything," said Christian with a scowl, "because I don't know anything and no one has told me anything. You shouldn't be reading such garbage."

"Christian, my love, calm down," Leslie said softly. "Maybe he didn't get it from a tabloid—he might've heard it on local TV or something, and he's just wondering what your take on it is. If it's had enough time to spread like that, then it's been around long enough that he expected you'd have heard about it by now, that's all."

"Exactly so," Ernst said, sounding a little desperate. "That's all, Christian, truly."

Christian drew in and released a couple of deep breaths, then smiled apologetically at his friend. "I'm sorry, Ernst. But you surprised me badly with that. If Daniel is really thinking about returning to Sweden with Anders, I would have heard something from my family about it, and it would have been through e-mail or a phone call. And I haven't received any word at all about it. At least, not in that fashion."

"Rumors often have at least a tiny bit of truth in them," Pelle ventured. "It could be that there's some gossipy servant in the castle who saw a chance to make a lot of money."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Christian grunted, and Pelle and Ernst grinned. "Well, all I can say is that I'll have to check in with the family later on."

The rest of the visit was quite pleasant, but after Christian had taken Ernst and Pelle back to their bungalow to start packing for their long trip home, he retreated directly to the computer in the main house to start looking for something online. Roarke was out, but Leslie was there taking care of some things, and she paused to watch him. "Checking up on that rumor of Ernst's, huh?" she asked.

Christian glanced up and nodded. "I want to know where this is coming from and who's circulating it."

"You put that much stock in it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet," he admitted with a sigh, clicking on something and settling back in the chair. "The trouble is that I can't honestly blame Daniel if it's true and he really does plan to take Anders to Sweden. They were both born there, and with Briella gone now, Daniel has no real reason to remain in Lilla Jordsö, especially with his own land and holding in his native country." Leslie nodded, and he turned back to the computer and leaned forward a bit to read what was on the screen. When he frowned, Leslie shifted in Roarke's chair.

"What is it?" she asked.

"One of the tabloids took an online poll," he said. "People seem about evenly divided as to whether they think Daniel should stay or go. And they give all manner of reasons."

Leslie got up and peered at the screen over his shoulder, and shook her head. "Well, I don't know...all I can think is, maybe it's time to give the family a direct call and see what they know and what their stance is on it."

Christian murmured agreement and was pulling out his cell phone to make the long-distance call when Roarke's desk phone sounded off, and Leslie went to answer it. Christian paused to watch her. "Main house," she said.

"Oh, I'm glad someone's there," Margareta's voice responded. "Aunt Leslie, I haven't had a single symptom since you and Uncle Christian came to visit me this morning, and now the doctor says I can go home if I like. Would you two come to get me, please?"

She sounded enough like a hopeful little girl that it made Leslie grin. "Oh, I guess we can do that," she drawled teasingly. "Besides, Christian and I want to bring you in on a family matter anyway, so I'll send him over to check you out. I have to hold down the fort for Father, so Christian can just bring you over here for a while."

Margareta agreed, and Leslie hung up and relayed the edict to Christian. "And it's not the doctor who says this?" he asked. "He let Magga tell us herself, did he?"

"That's why I'm sending you," she said, grinning. "You can intimidate the truth out of everybody with your royal persona."

"Leslie, really," he grunted, but he was amused. "All right, I'll be back soon—with luck, I'll have Magga with me. And you're right, I do want her opinion on this." He arose and departed, and Leslie returned to her tasks, thinking alternately about the rumor and about Ernst's question over whether Christian and she might ever live in Lilla Jordsö.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - November 22, 2008

When they returned, Margareta was beaming. "I've never felt so good," she was telling Christian as they came into the house. "And to think I don't need to take amakarna anymore! Now Stina's the only one left in the family who's still taking it." Her face clouded over and she peered at Christian. "Something tells me that when she hears all the symptoms Briella and then I went through, she'll be too afraid to take the cure."

"You never know till you ask her, Magga," Christian said mildly. "But meantime, we have other concerns here. Sit down and tell me what you think about this." He let her greet Leslie, who smiled, and then filled her in on the rumor Ernst had told them about.

Margareta looked amazed. "How long has this rumor been circulating?"

"As far as I could ascertain, less than a week," said Christian, "which can only mean that Ernst has been keeping close track of events in Lilla Jordsö. I haven't been able to track down the ultimate source, and in fact I was about to put through a call to the castle when you called from the hospital." He turned to his wife. "Leslie, my Rose, do you think your father would object to our making the call from his phone line in here? I ask because I'd like to make use of the speakerphone, so that we can all have input."

Leslie thought about it for a moment. "Well, it's kind of a big thing. I'd say go ahead—the phone expenses have been lower than usual this month anyway." She grinned; Christian and Margareta laughed and arose to take the leather chairs in front of the desk. The women watched while he carefully punched out the number, then requested his brother.

As soon as he got a response from Carl Johan, Christian nodded at Leslie, who pushed the button that transferred the conversation to the speakerphone. Christian greeted Carl Johan in _jordiska_, and there was a bit of small talk before Christian caught him up on Margareta's condition and Margareta and Leslie both bid him hello.

"Good news, for a change," Carl Johan said. "I think it best to wait till the next full week has elapsed and we have official word from Mr. Roarke and everyone else conducting this trial before we release any word here. So...is that why you called?"

"Actually, no," Christian said. "It's a long story, but here's the background." He filled Carl Johan in on the unexpected reunion he'd had with Pelle and Ernst, whom Carl Johan remembered, to Christian's surprise. "Now...I took them through our house for a grand tour, and we were chatting a bit before I brought them back to pack for their trip home. It seems that Ernst heard a rumor that's been floating around the _jordiska_ media for some few days now. Something about Daniel preparing to take Anders back to Sweden permanently."

"Oh, we're well aware of it," Carl Johan said, sounding tired. "We simply haven't dealt with it, because Daniel is dragging his feet on an official announcement. But he's speaking quite seriously about making the move."

"So the rumor is true!" Margareta exclaimed.

"To some extent," her uncle quantified, "so don't reveal anything yet."

"How does the family feel about it—particularly Kristina?" Christian wanted to know. "After all, Anders is her only grandson, and he was Briella's child too."

Carl Johan released a deep sigh. "To tell you the truth, I don't think she'd notice. You see, Briella's death has thrown Kristina into the same mental fog she was in after Arnulf died. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Magga, but the fact is that we've taken her to a specialist, and he's afraid the shock of Briella's death is too much for her and that this time she won't come back to reality."

"This is turning into a gothic horror novel," Leslie mumbled to herself in English.

"What was that?" Carl Johan asked.

"I have to agree, my Rose," Christian admitted, and repeated her words to his brother, who let out a mirthless chuckle of agreement.

"There have been too many changes in the family in the last decade," said Carl Johan. "At least, that's the general consensus. There was an entire newspaper editorial about it in last Sunday's edition of _Sundborgs Nyheter._ First, Christian, your leaving the country to marry Leslie and live with her in _her_ country. Then Arnulf's death and Briella's coronation. Ceci and Axel being killed in that car wreck. The attempts by the Komainen family on Leslie's life. And further, Rudolf's minor sex scandals before he got involved with Louisa; Roald's and Briella's sudden marriages; Esbjörn seemingly returning from the dead; Magga coming out as lesbian; the damned oil scandal; and now Briella's murder, the preliminary coronation of a child king, and my investiture as Prince Regent. There seem to be some influential people who think it's time the family settled down to more mundane and traditional things, and among those is the question of your coming home for good, Christian."

Leslie gasped, and Christian looked sharply at her. "What's the matter, Aunt Leslie?" Margareta asked.

"Ernst said something about that at the house," Leslie said, staring at a startled Christian. "It was when you were showing Pelle the boys' fort in the backyard. He wondered if we thought we'd ever move back to Lilla Jordsö, and he mentioned some of the changes too, though it went only as far as the throne frequently changing hands and how there've been so many deaths in the family." She swallowed. "I...I know we've never talked about it, but I think it was all because it depends on Father. Someday he'll retire, and then what?"

Margareta's mouth was hanging open; Christian looked troubled, his gaze unfocused. From the telephone speaker, Carl Johan said, "Leslie, you know perfectly well that this is not an obligation on your part. It's only the opinion of a newspaper editor using his forum to air his personal wishes about something that really isn't his business to begin with."

"That may be," Christian ruminated, half to himself, "but I do think it's worth discussing." He looked at his wife and smiled at her. "Don't worry, my Rose, we'll talk about it in private. I know it's not something to take lightly, and we certainly will go over all the possibilities and the aspects of each one." He focused his attention on the speaker then and addressed his brother with, "Of course, Carl Johan, I'm assuming you're ignoring that article. As you said, after all, it's only someone's opinion."

"Naturally...but all the upheavals in the family have been starting cultural earthquakes, in a manner of speaking. People are uneasy with the changes."

"And because they think too many crazy things have happened in this family in the last eight or ten years, now it's time for Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie to move to Lilla Jordsö?" Margareta asked incredulously. "I know it's up to them in the end—but where in the world would they live? In the castle? In their own house, like Gerhard and Liselotta, and Kai and Stina? Truly, these people are mad. After all that's happened, all they can talk about is watching Daniel and Anders leave and bringing Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie back home for good."

"We're getting off topic here," Christian said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. "The question here was what Daniel plans to do. Hasn't anyone tried to talk to him? Or is he hiding in the royal suite with Anders?"

"Daniel's been grieving heavily, and I'm afraid Anders doesn't really understand in any case. Anna-Laura has had to go in a few times and force him to at least let that poor boy out so that he can have contact with his cousins, but I suspect that in the end Daniel will make the decision to leave. He himself said a couple of evenings ago, in one of his few appearances at the dinner table, that he and Anders really have no further business being here in Lilla Jordsö, with Briella gone. He isn't the monarch born. He's nobility in his own right and has family property in Sweden that he must attend to. Anders, being adopted, has no claim to the _jordisk_ throne, but he _is_ eligible to inherit from Daniel one day. Quite frankly, Daniel would have far more reason to return to Sweden than to remain here, and I'm sure whoever raised this rumor in the first place followed the same line of reasoning. But we can say nothing officially until Daniel informs us of whatever decision he makes. And he hasn't done so yet." Carl Johan sighed. "So our hands are tied."

"I see," Christian murmured. "Well, at least we know the current truth. But I must tell you, Ernst was surprised that no one at home had contacted us in regard to what Daniel may do—it's as if we were the last ones to know, even after the garbage media."

"It was probably some servant," Margareta interjected. "Just as when the full truth of your marriage to Marina LiSciola finally came out, Uncle Christian." She noticed Leslie's questioning look and explained, "After Pappa fired a batch of servants for assorted petty thefts around the castle, one of them provided the full background of the reasons behind that stupid arranged marriage. It came out in an edition of the Sunday _Sundborgs Nyheter_ in the spring of 2000."

Christian laughed. "I remember that very well. Arnulf was scandalized and said something about having been betrayed. I thought it was hilarious, myself; I knew the exact source of much of the information in the article—Marina's rant at Arnulf about what she called 'our joke of a marriage'. So tell me, _äldrebror_, have any servants been dismissed lately?" At that Leslie giggled too.

"No, none that I'm aware of, but there's a fair amount of turnover, so one of those who quit may well have sold the story. There's little point in speculating; it's been done, and since it's half true anyhow, I see no reason to even devote any attention to it until Daniel makes his decision. And as far as that question about you and Leslie moving back here, we won't even address that; it'll be as though it was never asked. However...perhaps you two would satisfy my curiosity. What, if anything, might compel you to return?"

Christian and Leslie looked at each other, and he nodded at her, with a quizzical look on his face that told her he had no idea himself. She smiled a little and said, "The only thing I can think of would be Father's retirement. And even then I'm not sure. I'm supposed to be his heir, although to tell you the truth, I couldn't really run this island myself. I'd be more inclined to leave that to Rogan."

"I'm sure you won't have to worry about that for some time to come," Carl Johan told them in a tone meant to reassure. "As I said, that's entirely between you two and certainly none of anyone else's business, especially that of an outspoken newspaper editor. And what of your future child—how is your pregnancy, Leslie?"

"I've quit throwing up," Leslie said. "In fact, it's almost too easy—I mean, sometimes I actually forget I'm pregnant. My doctor set me a due date of about May 20."

"Good, keep us informed. Is there anything else?"

"No, but I'd ask that you also keep us informed as to what Daniel decides to do," said Christian. "It bothered me that the garbage media knew about it before I did, I have to admit that. And I'll dispatch e-mails keeping you up-to-date on Magga's condition. If nothing else happens to her between now and the end of the waiting period, she'll probably be on her way home immediately upon gaining release from Rogan and the overseeing physician."

"Well enough. All right, then, take care of yourselves." They all exchanged farewells and cut the connection; Christian, Leslie and Margareta looked at one another, but could find nothing else to say before Roarke came into the house.

"Well," he remarked when they all looked at him in startlement. "Have I interrupted something? If so, I apologize."

"No, nothing at all, Mr. Roarke," Christian said, clearing his throat. "We just finished a conversation with my brother; it seems Briella's widower is considering packing up his son and moving back to Sweden. It wouldn't be unwarranted; there's nothing left for him in Lilla Jordsö with Briella gone, and Anders isn't in line for the throne. He _is_ Daniel's heir, though, so it would make sense for them to go back. He simply hasn't decided yet."

"I see," said Roarke. "Whatever decision he makes, I hope it will bring him some measure of peace. And Your Highness, I see you've been released from the hospital."

"I seem to have a clean bill of health, Mr. Roarke," Margareta said with a broad smile. "It feels very good. I still can't believe I don't need amakarna ever again."

"Poor Stina, she'll feel left out now," Christian said lightly, and they chuckled.

Roarke observed, "I suspect she will eventually decide to go through the cure herself, despite the side effects. Rogan is no happier about them than the trial participants, but it seems that they have unanimously agreed that said effects are worth freeing themselves from amakarna." He consulted his gold pocket watch. "Oh, and Leslie...this would be an excellent time for you to make a check on Mrs. Dawson's fantasy."

Christian and Margareta both seemed to perk up at that. "What fantasy is that?" asked Margareta.

Leslie smiled. "We have a guest who's sailing the _Andrea Doria_ right now."

Margareta looked a little confused, but Christian instantly stood up. "No arguments, not even from you, Mr. Roarke. I'm going too. I know what happened to that ship." He grabbed Leslie's hand and pulled her around the desk till he could draw her in against him.

Leslie grinned. "I'm not objecting. Besides, Father, I wouldn't be surprised if you went and stuck that poor woman on that last fatal voyage. I'm sure she only wanted a nice quiet cruise."

Roarke simply looked at them till they stared quizzically back; then he said quietly, "She is needed there to save a certain life." He met Christian's gaze and said, "Just be careful. Follow Leslie's instructions precisely."

Christian nodded, an eyebrow slightly quirked as if in response to Roarke's words, and turned to his wife. "Let's go, my Rose."

"What was the _Andrea Doria_?" they heard Margareta ask Roarke as they slipped into the time-travel room. Inside, they looked at each other and laughed.

"I see I'll have to enlighten her a bit further," Christian observed as he watched Leslie scan the room carefully. "My grandparents once took a voyage on that ship, too. What are you looking for?"

"The trigger," Leslie said, squinting at the far wall, then nodding. "Aha, there it is." She took his hand and led him to the far corner, where she put her hand on a European-style door handle that Christian hadn't noticed, pushing down on it. He blinked rapidly and reared back a little as a door swung outward, revealing a long corridor lined with doors that were identical to the one Leslie had just opened. She grinned at his reaction. "Surprised you, did I? Come on, follow me, but stick close."

"I may never learn," Christian murmured, ducking around her so she could close the door behind them. Then he noticed their attire. "Leslie, what in hell...?"

"Hey, you wanted to come," she reminded him, grinning.

"Because you're pregnant and we're on a doomed ship," he retorted.

"Then stop reacting so much. Grab that cart over there and let's deliver the room-service order for Nina Dawson in stateroom 95." She smoothed out her kitchen worker's uniform, watched Christian tug at the tunic of his and snort with derision before pulling the metal cart that waited a few feet away, and led him along the corridor, watching room numbers. Christian muttered under his breath in _jordiska_ the whole way there, but she tuned him out till they had reached their destination, then shot him a warning look that quieted him before she knocked on the door of stateroom 95.

Nina Dawson pulled it open and gasped at sight of them. "Oh! Hi, Leslie..." She gave Christian a stunned look, then glanced both ways along the corridor before urging them inside the room, cart and all. Only then did she venture, "Prince Christian, is that you?"

"It is," he said tersely, throwing Leslie a fulminating look when she gestured at him to start unloading the cart. She winked at him, knowing she'd get an earful later, and turned to Nina, taking in the stateroom as she did.

"Very nice," she murmured. "So how are things going?"

"Well, it's been quite the voyage," Nina remarked with a grin. "I even made a new friend. I've been all over this ship, at least as far as I could get without being turned away by crew or stopped by signs telling me I was in a forbidden area. It's such a shame nobody ever does this anymore in this hurry-up world. What a terrific way to relax."

"The world's changed a lot since the fifties," Leslie agreed. "So...what's your friend's name, then? Where did you meet?"

"In the dining room. Her name's Claire Minton and she has a little girl named Carrie, just the cutest kid. I think they're on the other side of the ship. Listen, I'm sorry about the remarks I made when you brought me to that yacht to send me off...I kind of forgot what Mr. Roarke said, that it's Fantasy Island and all."

Leslie grinned. "No harm done. So you've managed to see everything you can? That's a lot of running around. You must be exhausted."

"I am, but it's been fun. I should've brought a camera—the pictures would have been an amazing souvenir. If only I—" At that second there was a jarring thump and a horrifying groan that seemed to come from the bowels of the ship, and they all had to grab something to stay on their feet. Christian let out a startled curse in _jordiska_, and Nina stared at Leslie. "What was that?" she demanded.

Leslie knew in that moment that she'd been right about what Roarke had done, and met Nina's gaze with a touch of reluctance; she had to raise her voice over the unearthly moaning and the jostling of the ship. "The collision," she said.

"You mean—you mean this is July 25, 1956?" Nina shouted. "You put me on the last voyage of the _Andrea Doria_?"

The groaning and bumping ceased, mercifully, only to be followed by a sudden sickening tilt to starboard. Again they stumbled; the cart began to roll toward the door. Cursing, Christian bent forward against the list and struggled uphill till he had grabbed Leslie's hand; Nina was staring around the cabin with huge eyes, her hands clamped against the sides of her head. "I can't believe you did this!"

"You have a life to save," Leslie shouted back at her, losing her temper. "That's why you're here, now, at this moment—so get out there and save that life!"

Galvanized into movement, Nina half-skidded down the slope of the tilted floor and found life jackets in a closet; at Leslie's sharp command, she pulled one on and fastened it, then took the rest in an armful when Leslie handed them to her. All the while Christian watched, a shocked, incredulous look on his face. When Nina made her hesitant way out the door, he glared at Leslie. "And what are _we_ to do?"

She glared back and barked, "Follow me, dammit, will you?" Shoving the cart out of the way, she seized his arm and pulled him toward the door Nina had slammed shut; with a mental word or two to Roarke, she drew in a deep breath and yanked the door open again. On the other side, to her immense relief, was the time-travel room; she tugged Christian forward, shoved him through, followed him and dragged the door firmly shut after her.

"I don't believe it!" Christian snapped, gaping at her with a mix of horror and outrage. "Can't you just grant someone a fantasy without putting them in danger? Get out here!" He snatched her hand into a death grip and towed her through into the study, where Roarke and Margareta were still talking; they stared as Christian hauled Leslie through the door and began to rant. "That was a hell of a maneuver, Mr. Roarke! How could you do that? You sent Leslie back to that doomed ship _right at the moment of the collision!_ What's wrong with you? Can you never have a fantasy without some mortal danger involved?"

_"Herregud,_ Uncle Christian," said Margareta, astonished.

"Christian, stop it!" Leslie yelled. "Give him a chance to explain!"

Roarke had arisen from his seat and was waiting with chilly patience for the chaos to die down; when Christian turned an expectant glare on him, he said, "As I told you and Leslie just before you left, Mrs. Dawson is there to save a life. That life will surely go down with the ship unless our guest completes her fantasy as fate wills."

The mention of fate stilled Christian altogether; he scowled, but subsided. "If it's fate's caprice rather than yours, that makes it no less objectionable."

"Then take up your argument with fate," Leslie shot out, fed up. "I think you forgot that you _asked_ to come with me, Christian Enstad! We were never in any danger, and if Mrs. Dawson plays her part, she won't be, either! For someone who was going to explain to his niece about a little family history, you seem to have forgotten history in general!" She stalked toward Roarke's desk, shaking her head in disgust.

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Margareta broke in sternly, catching Leslie's startled attention. "Can't you see he's been scared to death? Just look at him!" She gestured at Christian, whose adrenaline had run out and who had abruptly sunk onto the nearest seat, elbows on knees, head in hands, fingers half buried in his hair. They could see him shaking, and he was breathing heavily. As Leslie stared, Margareta pinned her with a glare and demanded, "Exactly what happened back there?"

"The collision," said Leslie in a dazed tone. "The moment the _Stockholm_ rammed the _Andrea Doria_. We felt the jolt, and heard the groaning, and then the list..." She closed her eyes. "I...I knew I had to deliver Father's message before we could get out of there. Maybe that was the only thing that kept me calm. Oh...oh no..." Delayed reaction set in; she jammed her hand against her mouth and raced upstairs, where she lost the evening meal almost before she could get into the bathroom. Once her stomach had emptied itself, she sank to her knees on the floor and burst into tears. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was a last-straw situation: all the stress of Christian's enforced trip to Boston and what he had been through there; the tragic first trial of Rogan and Marina's serum, which had brought about the murders of Gabriella and Marina; the funeral in Lilla Jordsö and Leslie's fears about the circumstances surrounding Gabriella's death; their worry over Margareta's hallucinations during the past week; and the symptoms of her own pregnancy. She knew, too, that undoubtedly Christian's explosion had come about as a result of all these same things; being in the wrong place at the wrong moment during a fantasy might be a minor thing compared to all the rest, but as Leslie well knew, it was often the smallest things that finally broke you down. She had reached her own limit now, and couldn't find the strength even to stop crying, much less get back onto her feet.

Someone slid an arm over her shoulders and gathered her in close, and she could tell by the sandalwood scent that it was Christian. "It's all right, my Rose, it's all right. I'm here. I'm sorry. _I ödets namn,_ all we seem to have done the last few weeks is apologize to each other for all manner of slights. Please stop crying, my darling."

She coughed a couple of times and huddled against him. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, my love...I just...everything finally f-fell ap-apart."

"I know it did, my Rose, I know—it did for me as well. Shhh, it's all right, it'll get better now. Magga's back to normal and we're past it all. We needed this release, I think. Maybe that's why Mr. Roarke allowed me to accompany you into that fantasy with no fuss at all." She heard him chuckle briefly. "I wondered about it for a moment or two when we first went back, but then the collision happened, and only now in the aftermath can I see what he must have been trying to do. Don't they say it's the little things that get to you the most? Perhaps he realized that and set us up for this."

Leslie lifted her head and regarded him through swimming eyes. "Do you think you would've reacted so violently if it hadn't been for everything else that's happened?"

Christian grinned and observed, "I suspect Mr. Roarke wouldn't have let me go at all, for there wouldn't have been any need—so I don't know how I would have reacted under other circumstances. Don't cry anymore, my darling, all right? Ach, it just occurred to me." His grin lingered as he gently brushed away her tears with one thumb. "Turning me into a kitchen steward aboard the _Andrea Doria_...your father must have had one hell of a private laugh over that. He does have a peculiar sense of humor."

She let out a shaky little giggle and rested her head on his shoulder. "I kind of thought you overreacted to the idea that you were playing a servant. I know you hate seeing me cry, my love, but I'm pregnant, so I guess I'm going to be more prone to tears."

"You weren't so prone to them when we were expecting the triplets," he remarked.

"Every pregnancy's different," Leslie said. "Even in the same woman, each pregnancy will be different—that's what Dr. Hannaford said when I asked her about the morning sickness and the bloating and all those other symptoms I had with the triplets. She said I might be more or less sick, more or less weepy, more or less bloated, than the first time around, so I had to make allowances for that. Father said I was very fretful while you were gone, and that was before anybody knew I was pregnant." She considered it. "Funny, he was as surprised as anybody else to hear it. Normally he'd sense it before there were even any signs. Maybe he's been stressed out too, in his own way."

"Then perhaps we all owe each other some apologies," Christian said, bracing himself and then rising, pulling her up with him. "Here, let's make you a little more presentable, and we'll go back down and have a little discussion."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - November 23, 2008

By the following morning, however, they realized they were in for another minor siege: Christian awakened with a very queasy stomach, and before Leslie could ask him what was wrong, he had to make a mad dash to the bathroom. When he came back in, still looking nauseated, she pushed herself into a sitting position in the bed. "Did that help at all, my love?"

He threw her a look and thumped wearily onto the bed on her side, still cradling his stomach. After a couple of breaths, he gave her another look and quipped sourly, "Don't tell me I'm pregnant too."

She grinned, reaching out to smooth his shoulder. "If you are, you'll merit more than one chapter in Lilla Jordsö's official royal history. I think you finally came in for your turn with that stomach virus that's been going around. You might be better off staying up here in bed, and I'll take Margareta to our house the first chance I get."

Christian mumbled agreement and plodded gingerly back to his side of the bed, settling in with a couple of small groans and closing his eyes. Leslie dressed, then leaned over the mattress long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek before heading downstairs.

"Where's Uncle Christian?" Margareta asked; she and Roarke were already at the breakfast table, though Mariki had not yet come out with the meal.

"The stomach bug finally got him," Leslie said, "the one that's been circulating around the island. Once we finish eating, I'd better take you to our house. I don't think it'd help the trial any if you happen to come down with it too."

"Why not take Uncle Christian home?" Margareta wanted to know.

Roarke chuckled. "I suspect Leslie would prefer to keep an eye on him, Your Highness. Besides, he's in Leslie's old room, which is actually closer to the bathroom than he would be at home." That made them laugh, just as Mariki came out with the breakfast cart; she too asked after Christian's whereabouts, and shook her head at the response.

"I think that's everyone except you, sir, and the princess here. You just wait, you'll all be eating at the hotel restaurant yet." Mariki hadn't contracted the illness yet, but she had been proclaiming for most of a week now that she expected to be felled by it any day.

"Is that really as big a hardship as you like to think it is? You know Kazuo's a friend of ours," Leslie scolded her, "and he's a very good chef or else he wouldn't be employed here. You just worry about breakfast right now. And oh, drat it, I'll have to take Christian's friends to the plane dock myself and explain why he isn't here to say goodbye."

The morning passed with little incident; Roarke made a check on the fantasies just before lunchtime. Leslie looked up when he returned from the Dawson fantasy. "I suppose she's been upset."

"Mrs. Dawson? She has been quite well occupied with the passenger she rescued," Roarke said. "She informed me that you made it very clear that saving said passenger was extremely urgent, and now that they have been taken aboard a lifeboat to the _Stockholm_, she has split her time between trying to figure out why the name of the passenger she saved is familiar to her somehow, and exploring the _Stockholm."_

Leslie laughed. "Well, good, she accomplished her mission. I guess she figured she might as well check out the other ship involved in the fracas as long as she was there."

"She's a very curious lady, indeed," Roarke said with a smile. "Shall we have lunch?"

Leslie made a check on a soundly sleeping Christian after lunch; at two, Roarke went to retrieve Nina Dawson from her fantasy. Nina peered at Leslie as she came through the time-travel-room door behind Roarke, and remarked, "I guess I can see why you didn't come back after that first checkup you made on me. I think I'm gonna have dreams about feeling that collision for months now, if not years."

Leslie grinned wryly. "I just hope that doesn't translate to me. Well, other than being caught in the collision, how did your fantasy go?"

"It was beautiful, in the beginning at least. Now more than ever, I can see what an incredible loss the _Andrea Doria_ was, not just for Italy but for an era, a whole way of life. I think that was the beginning of the end of the transatlantic cruise as the preferred means of getting between Europe and North America. It was really amazing." She shoved her hands into her pockets, then went still, her face changing expression.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Dawson?" Roarke asked.

Slowly Nina withdrew something from one pocket and lifted it into the air, staring at it. It was a brass key with a matching tag on a ring. "My stateroom key," she whispered, her eyes fixed on it. "I...I never realized I still had it."

"Perhaps it will be a souvenir for you," Roarke offered gently.

"Yeah," Nina murmured, sighing. Fingering the key, she settled into a chair. "I finally figured out what was familiar about the name of that passenger I had to save. Carrie Minton was the two-year-old girl whose mom I met in the dining room." She addressed Leslie with this. "They were on the starboard side of the ship all right, a good ways aft of where the _Stockholm_ plowed into the _Doria_. But they were down one deck, and at the time of the collision, Carrie was asleep in her cabin with a hired babysitter while her parents were up in one of the ballrooms, dancing. I met Claire on the Promenade Deck after you loaded me up with those life jackets, and she told me where Carrie was. We both tried to go back down to get her, but the crush was awful...and with the list already at twenty degrees, it was incredibly hard to navigate along the hallways, never mind the stairwells. But Claire was so frantic, I knew I had to try. So I gave her all but one of the life jackets, told her to wait at the gift shop, and went down after Carrie."

"So you were supposed to save Carrie Minton," Leslie said softly.

"I wasn't sure, but I thought, _at least I can try it._ I figured Mr. Roarke would tell me if I succeeded or not when the fantasy ended. It must have taken me an hour just to get down one deck, with all the crazy panicky people clawing their way up from below. And I had to do it from the port side because the starboard side was mangled too much from the prow of the _Stockholm_. But I found her. Both she and the babysitter had managed to sleep through the collision...how, I'll never know, because I'll never forget that horrible groaning noise as long as I live. I woke up the babysitter, and I got Carrie up and put the life jacket on her, and the babysitter grabbed the life jackets out of the closet and put one on. Of course, the other ones got grabbed, but I figured we were fine, we had ours. I, uh...I grabbed a big blue tote bag too, when I saw what was in it. It was the Mintons' movie camera, and Claire's purse, and their passports. Claire thought I was nuts when I finally got back to her with Carrie, but she didn't dwell on it much—she just cried and hugged me, and thanked me for saving Carrie. And we all managed to catch the same lifeboat to the _Stockholm_ together. Claire carried Carrie, and she helped me tie that bag to myself so that there was no getting rid of it till we were saved." She made a face. "I guess it was dumb, but everybody thought I had a brand-new baby bundled up against me, so no one objected."

Leslie grinned. "Well, the important thing was that you saved that little girl. You may have nightmares about the collision, but you can be at peace otherwise."

"Yeah." Nina sighed, then turned to Roarke. "So did I fulfill my destiny?"

"Indeed you did, Mrs. Dawson," Roarke said with a smile. "However, I might remind you of one small item. You neglected to explain why Carrie Minton's name was familiar."

"Oh, that's right," said Nina through a laugh. "It's because of one of my daughters. Her best friend at school is Lily Branton, whose mother's name is Carrie Branton—maiden name, Minton. I've known Carrie Branton casually for three or four years now, but we don't live that close, so we don't see each other much. I think when I get back to my bungalow, I'm going to give her a call and ask a few questions."

Roarke smiled. "I'm glad you've fulfilled your fantasy, even if it may have been a bit harrowing at times. You deserve a rest, so feel free to do as you like for the remainder of the weekend." Nina smiled her thanks and departed.

Leslie began drumming her fingers on her knee, thinking. "Carrie Minton, huh? You know, now that I think of it, for some reason the name's starting to sound a little familiar to me as well. I can't imagine why."

Roarke sat beside his daughter and smiled at her. "I had begun to wonder whether you would remember at all. It would be forgivable if you had not, since it's been so many years since you saw the lady."

"I _saw_ Carrie Minton?" Leslie repeated, staring at him. "When was this?"

"It goes all the way back to your very first weekend on this island, my child, the day we broke the Hamilton curse once and for all. Think back to that day and tell me what you remember about it now."

Leslie let her eyes go out of focus as she turned inward, examining her memory. "It was funny because someone came in at the end of her fantasy, needing clothes because what she was wearing was stuck back in the day of...Cleopatra, I think. I remember it mostly because it was the first time I ever saw Tattoo trying to act suave around a pretty woman and misfiring the way he always did." She stilled; then her eyes widened and she stared at Roarke. "That was Carrie Minton, wasn't it?"

"It was indeed," Roarke said. "What you don't know is what happened later. It was Ms. Minton who first alerted us that your bungalow had caught fire. Had she not let us know, it is entirely possible that it would have taken longer for us to realize that Tituba had made her final move, and you might have at least been critically injured, if not killed."

Leslie paled and closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing thickly before she studied him again through forming tears. "So Nina Dawson had to save Carrie Minton, so that Carrie Minton could help to save me."

"Exactly," Roarke said, smiling and hugging her close. "And now the circle has been closed. Perhaps one day you'll be able to thank Ms. Minton yourself."

§ § § - November 30, 2008

Christian had been unlucky enough to spend the entire past week battling the stomach virus, to the point where he'd even been forced to sleep a couple of nights atop a mound of towels in the bathroom; but by the final morning of the waiting period in the serum's second trial, he looked much healthier. "Never in my life have I been so sick for so long," he complained, massaging his stomach with great care as he lay beside a still-drowsy Leslie in their bed. "But believe it or not, my stomach feels fine today. At least, it doesn't react with a roll if I so much as rest my hand atop it."

Leslie regarded him with his six-day stubble, the aspiring mustache and beard that looked so out of place on him, and grinned in sleepy recollection. "That has to be a good sign. Frankly, I'm as relieved as you are. As much agony as you went through—especially those two nights when you slept in the bathroom and I kept waking up every time your stomach tried to eject something—I'm just as glad it's all over. But be careful when you try to eat, and I don't think I'd recommend any coffee just yet."

Christian winced and closed his eyes. "Believe me, my Rose, right now coffee sounds like the worst sort of torture to me. Besides, you can't imagine the massive caffeine headache I found myself suffering late last Sunday afternoon and through most of Monday. It was why I barely slept all Sunday night—the pain kept me awake, even after I took that aspirin for it. Perhaps I'm better off drinking decaffeinated coffee from now on; I don't care to go through that again."

She giggled and raised herself up on one elbow to kiss him. "So how much does that beard itch? Goodness, Anna-Kristina was right."

He opened his eyes and squinted at her. "About what?"

"She told me about how she talked you into letting her come to your flat for a few days, the week after Madame died, and she found you with about this same amount of stubble. She told me she remembered thinking that even though you were hotter-looking than George Michael, stubble did a lot more for him than it did for you."

"The little brat," Christian muttered, but he had started to grin. "When did she tell you this, then?"

"Last spring when we were in Lilla Jordsö for our vacation. I think it came up when we females were sitting in the back courtyard watching the children playing—her and me, Amalia and Anna-Laura, Liselotta and Gabriella, Louisa and Adriana. I think even Kristina was out there with us. We had a radio and the station started playing a George Michael song, and the next thing I knew Anna-Kristina was telling me all about your brief 'George Michael period'. I thought she was nuts and I said so, and she laughed and said she was just kidding. That was when she told me about the stubble."

"So apparently stubble still does nothing for me," Christian murmured with good humor. "That's all right, because you're right—it itches like absolute hell." They both laughed, and he got out of bed, moving slowly, testing his stomach's reactions to every movement on his way to the bathroom.

They had arranged to have Margareta stay at the main house again after Christian insisted on being at home in his own bed; so in about two hours they were on their way over there, once Christian had had a chance to shower, shave and even ply his stomach with a little of Karina's _grömmagraut_, prepared by Ingrid. It was bland enough to be a good starter food after a bout of illness like Christian's, and when his stomach seemed to accept it without question, he had a second helping just to keep himself fortified till lunchtime. So when he, Leslie and the triplets appeared on the porch of the main house that Sunday morning, he was as hopeful as anyone else.

Roarke and Margareta looked up from their breakfast; Margareta jumped to her feet and hurried around the table to bestow a hug. "Uncle Christian, finally! You look so much better! Have you gotten past that stomach illness at last?"

"Seems so," Christian said, returning his niece's hug while the triplets ran ahead to greet their grandfather. "I'm sure you're very excited."

"You can't imagine. I almost couldn't eat for all the bats in my stomach." Margareta grinned at Leslie. "What time are we to go to the bed-and-breakfast inn?"

"Ten," Leslie said. "Believe me, I'm excited too. I think we all are."

They reached the B&amp;B at the appointed hour while Noelle Tokita watched the children at the main house; Rogan, just exiting the greenhouse, brightened at sight of them. "Oh, good, ye're all here. I've three doctors from the hospital here to draw blood samples so that we can find out once and for all if ye're all free of the spice. How're ye feelin', Yer Highness? No symptoms at all since that convulsion ye had in hospital last weekend?"

"Nothing," Margareta said, beaming. "I feel wonderful. I've been eating every possible kind of food all week just to see how it tastes without being sprinkled with amakarna. It's as if I've had a burden lifted from me."

"Ye encourage me, believe me," Rogan said. "An' ye, Christian...och, ye look a wee bit scrawny after that bout ye had with that stomach virus. Ye're all right?"

"Nothing a few good meals won't repair," Christian said with a smile. "Well, stop stalling, Rogan, for fate's sake. I'm sure everyone wants to know if this experiment's been a success." Rogan laughed agreement and accompanied them to Julie's café.

They were almost the last to arrive; two more participants appeared after them, and Rogan swiftly counted heads before closing the café door and addressing the group at large. "Well, here we are—fifteen days after the application o'the serum—an' it amazes me, it does, ye all sittin' here lookin' so healthy an' cheerful. If ye all don't mind givin' a wee last bit o'blood for the cause, we'll have the final verdict." He cleared his throat. "Pardon me brogue—me uncle an' cousin there'll tell ye it means I'm nervous as all hell." Everyone laughed, and Rogan grinned back, nodding at the doctors to get started.

They watched as the doctors made the rounds of the room, collecting blood into labeled vials for their tests. Margareta gave hers without a sound, her face a mask of hope and anticipation; everyone else seemed equally wound up, so when one of the doctors announced that they should have the results by six or seven that evening, a huge collective groan arose from everyone in the room—including Christian and Leslie. Roarke laughed as his daughter and son-in-law traded despairing looks. "You must realize it will take time to analyze some two dozen blood samples," he chided them.

"I suppose you have a point, but it's still nerve-wracking," Christian said, sighing. "I guess all we can do is wait, and keep ourselves occupied as best we can."

In the end Christian passed the time at his office working on a website for a client; Leslie helped Roarke with paperwork, and Margareta indulged herself with a trip to the beach for the afternoon. However, when six o'clock came and there had been no word, they all had begun to get antsy. Even Roarke was slightly disturbed, though he hid it far better than the others. Supper was a rushed affair; they were afraid they would miss the crucial phone call.

It came a few minutes after seven. "Come to the café," Rogan told Leslie when she grabbed the phone. "We're all meeting there." He hung up before she could acknowledge it; she made a face, then shrugged, put the receiver back on the hook and relayed his message to the others. In five seconds they were all out the door.

The rest of the trial group had gathered at speed; no one was sitting, for they were all too restless, too eager to hear the results. The doctor with whom Rogan had been working waited till Rogan had counted heads; then, at a look from him, he turned to the group, drew in a deep breath, and suddenly grinned. "You're all free of amakarna, forever. The trial is a complete success."

Cheers and shouts of joy filled the café, and people hugged each other all over the room. Margareta gasped and actually burst into tears; Christian and Leslie drew her into a three-way hug, and Christian tilted his head aside and kissed Leslie deeply.

"Oh, I must tell Stina as soon as possible," Margareta said through her tears, finally drawing Christian's attention enough to end his celebratory kiss (rather to Leslie's disappointment, of course). "Even if she doesn't like the side effects, she can't argue with a cure that works. And I know she's been sick of amakarna for years, ever since Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie found out they couldn't get married because of it."

"If you like," Roarke offered, "you may call from my study. This is most welcome news, and it certainly warrants your telling Princess Anna-Kristina as soon as possible."

"Thank you for being part of this, Mr. Roarke," Margareta said, hugging him, much to the surprise of Christian and Leslie. "What would this world do without you? One day the fates will reward you, for all the good you do for so many people." She beamed at him before dissolving into happy tears again.

Over Margareta's shoulder, Roarke winked at Leslie, who grinned and then turned to Christian. "Did you ever think we'd see this day?"

"To tell you the truth, my darling, no, I never did. In all those days I waited for something to break so that I could make you my wife, it never occurred to me that this could possibly happen." Christian sighed softly, then gathered her close. "We've paid far too high a price for that spice, for several generations. Now we'll never have to be plagued by it again. I'll talk to my brother about some sort of recognition for Rogan, and perhaps something posthumous for Marina." He smiled and smoothed back her hair. "That's one niche that's at last been destroyed forever...thank the fates."

"Just wait till we tell the world," she murmured, and he nodded and kissed her again.

* * *

_Now off to my book writing...but I still have a few unused FI story ideas in the pipeline, so there are still more tales in the wings. Thanks as always to Harry2, jtbwriter and Misheemom, along with those who merely read and those who leave the occasional comment; positive and constructive feedback is always welcome._


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